“Why don’t you?”
I didn’t expect him to ask me that. Figured he really didn’t care. “I can’t afford it and I wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship.” As if I could waste my time with school at the moment anyway. I work as much as I can. I used to have a full-time job, but that fell through a little less than a year ago. I put in as many hours as I can get waitressing at both La Salle’s and at a tiny Mexican restaurant not too far from our apartment, but that’s more a temporary thing. They only call me in when they’re understaffed.
The money sitting in my checking account thanks to Drew will ease some of that burden, at least for a little while. I didn’t put it in the account I share with my mom because I know the second she realizes that much money’s in there, she’ll blow it.
I can’t take that chance.
“How’d we meet, then?” Drew’s deep voice breaksthrough my thoughts. I wish he would take the initiative and come up with some of this story.
“The bar,” I suggest because it sounds so trashy, and I figure the only reason he’s bringing me is because he wants to look like he’s slumming it to his uppity family. “You came in with a bunch of friends and it was love at first sight the moment our eyes met.”
He sends me a look that calls me on my bullshit and I smile in return. If I’m in control of making up this story, I’m going to make it the sappiest, most romantic thing out there.
There is no room for romance in my life. It’s so stupid, but I let guys use me because for that one fleeting moment, when the guy is focusing all of his attention on me and no one else, it feels good. It helps me forget that no one really cares.
The second it’s over, it’s like I snap out of my mental fog and I feel cheap. Dirty. All those clichés you read about in books and see on TV or in movies, that’s me. I am a walking cliché.
I’m also the town slut who’s not as slutty as everyone thinks she is—again, another cliché. And I’m definitely not the girl you want to take home to impress your mama. There is nothing special about me.
Yet here’s Drew taking me home to impress his mama. Or more accurately, freak his mama out. I’m sure I’m that rich bitch’s (now I sound like Owen, from “broke bitch” to“rich bitch”) every nightmare come to life. The moment she lays eyes on me, she’s going to flip.
“I’m assuming you’re bringing me home to your mom so she’ll lose her shit, right?” I need confirmation. It’s one thing to think it and be okay with it. I need to face the facts head-on and deal with the repercussions later. Like how this might screw with my head despite how much I need that money.
His jaw firms and his lips thin into a straight, grim line. “My mom is dead.”
Oh. “I’m sorry.” I feel like a jerk.
“You didn’t know. She died when I was two.” He shrugs. “I know my dad will love you.”
The way he says it kind of freaks me out. Like his dad is probably a creeper, and that’s why he’ll love me.
“It’s just your dad and you, then?”
“No. There’s Adele.” His lips virtually disappear when he says that name. And he has really nice full lips, so I’m wondering where exactly they went. “She’s my stepmom.”
“So you want to freak out your stepmom.”
“I could give two shits what she thinks.”
The tension radiates off him in visible waves. There’s something going on between him and his stepmom that’s definitely not good.
Ignoring his remark about the wicked witch named Adele, I forge on. “Have any brothers or sisters?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Oh.” His lack of communication skills could be a real problem since I’m wholly dependent on this guy for the next freaking week. “I have a brother.”
“How old?”
“Thirteen.” I sigh. “Owen’s in the eighth grade. He gets in trouble a lot.”
“It’s a tough age. Junior high sucks.”
“Did you get in trouble a lot when you were thirteen?” I couldn’t imagine it being so.
He laughs, reaffirming my suspicions in a heartbeat. “I wasn’t allowed.”
“What do you mean?” I frown. His answer makes no sense.
